Gemotions

The rhythmic thudding started promptly at eight, a percussive announcement that Mr. Henderson was finally transforming his drab bungalow. Sarah, peering through her kitchen window, couldn't help but feel a sudden tightness in her chest. She'd been promising herself a kitchen remodel for five years. Five years of saving, of planning, of sketching dream layouts.

She slammed the cereal box onto the counter, making her husband jump. "Honestly," she huffed, "does he have to start so early?" The answer, of course, was no, he didn't. But the fact that he *could* stung.

Her gaze drifted back to the Henderson house. The backhoe, a gleaming beast of yellow metal, was already tearing into the overgrown garden. She imagined the sleek new patio, the gleaming outdoor kitchen, everything she wanted, and she felt a strange, uncomfortable heat rising in her cheeks.